


Chocolate

by CosmicZombie



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Silly!Jimmy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicZombie/pseuds/CosmicZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Christmas AU. Thomas and Jimmy are competing for a promotion before Christmas in the London coffee shop, ‘Chocolate’. Jimmy is the bored English Literature student, Thomas is the new, ambitious barista. Underhand tactics, flirting, and rivalry ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> It's a month today until Christmas! Woo! If this is well-received, it's going to be a four/five part Christmas mini-fic which I'll hopefully update every week until Christmas. It's nothing to serious, just some light, fluffy Thommy silliness, but I hope you enjoy. I haven't done any modern Thommy yet, so I hope it's alright. I'm actually super busy at the moment, so let me know if you want me to continue this or not. Hope you enjoy, and comments are amazing! <3

****

**Part One: Chocolate Sprinkles and Other Small Tragedies**

Jimmy had actually used to like coffee before he started working at ‘Chocolate’, but serving the stuff for eight hours six days a week kind of put him off. It wasn’t that it was a bad job— in fact, it was a pretty nice place to work— it was more just that it reminded Jimmy that he wasn’t doing what he wanted to be doing. Every cappuccino or hot chocolate or iced frappe he served was a reminder that Jimmy was bored with his life, and had no idea where he wanted to go.

 

He had picked up the job as a barista at ‘Chocolate’ a year ago as a means to help pay his way through university, but somewhere along the lines, Jimmy had come to care more about serving coffee than analysing literature. He could write a flawless criticism of Shakespeare’s first two plays or talk for hours about the importance of pathetic fallacy in Angela Carter’s most popular novel, and he frequently quoted Oscar Wilde just to annoy the chef, Alfred— but he didn’t really _care_ about it all. That was the problem.

 

Jimmy didn’t really care about anything. He didn’t care about his English dissertation, he didn’t care about serving the right types of green tea, he didn’t care about making friends or relationships. He could charm his way around anyone to get what he wanted or just to amuse himself, but not of it really _mattered_. It was as though something was missing, but Jimmy had no idea what. Sometimes it was fun to flirt and mess about with the waitresses or the customers or irritate Alfred, but it was all just another way to pass the time.

 

To begin with, Wednesday December 1st— blustery, cold and wet— was no exception. It was a relatively slow morning; Jimmy cleaned the cappuccino maker twice, sprinkled Alfred’s hair with cinnamon until he noticed and threatened Jimmy with a spatula, and flirted with Ivy until Anna, the manageress, told him off for distracting Ivy from wiping the tables. Jimmy generally didn’t mind Anna or her husband, John, who owned and ran the small coffee shop— but he thought this was distinctly unfair, as Ivy was far keener on him than he was on her anyway.

 

Jimmy sulked as he stacked mugs back onto the mug trees behind the counter. He was already bored and restless, and it was only eleven o’clock. It was half an hour later when Jimmy distinctly heard the bell over the door jingle, but didn’t look round from where he was building a mug-pyramid.

 

“Welcome to ‘Chocolate’, what can I get for you today?” he reeled out automatically without turning around. He started on the espresso cups.

 

“Hello.” The voice was smooth, unfamilliar and slightly husky, and it made Jimmy turn around in annoyance at how the way the person had somehow managed to make the single word subtly mocking.

 

He blinked. The owner of the voice was annoyingly handsome. His dark hair was slicked straight back, emphasising his angular features and sharp, discerning grey eyes, and his mouth was curled up in a slightly sardonic smile, which was simultaneously and disconcertingly seductive. He had the air of someone who knew more than you would like them to.

 

Jimmy folded his arms petulantly as he waited impatiently for the man to give his order.

 

However, he didn’t— he merely raised an eyebrow at Jimmy.

 

“What?” Jimmy asked rudely, beginning to feel distinctly irritated.

“There’s no need to sound so upset,” the man said evenly, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I just thought that you might like to know that you have chocolate sprinkles in your hair.”

 

Jimmy flushed a dark red. “I know that perfectly well, thank you,” he snapped, inwardly cursing Alfred, and then himself, for not noticing that Alfred had retaliated from Jimmy’s cinnamon attack. “I’m— I’m trying something out.”

 

The man raised an eyebrow again infuriatingly.

 

“What can I get you?” Jimmy repeated, somewhat more forcefully than before. He clenched his fists under the counter. The beginnings of the espresso-cup pyramid shook slightly.

 

“An apron, please,” the man said coolly, after a moment’s consideration.

 

“Would you like milk with that?” Jimmy retorted snippily.

 

“No, perhaps some chocolate sprinkles, though,” the man replied, that infuriating smirk still playing across his lips.

Jimmy scowled, patience gone. “What the bloody hell do you want an apron for?” he snapped. “This is a _coffee_ shop, you know. We usually sell hot beverages, not articles of clothing.”

 

“I’m perfectly aware of that,” the man said calmly. “But don’t the baristas have to wear aprons? Health and Safety and all that.”

 

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “What?”

 

“Perhaps I should have introduced myself,” the man said, holding out a hand across the counter. “I’m Thomas Barrow. The new barista.”

 

Jimmy stared at the elegant, pale hand and did not take it. Instead he looked up, glaring more forcefully at the man. The espresso-cup pyramid wobbled dangerously. “But _I’m_ the barista!” he burst out incredulously.

 

“It is possible for there to be more than one barista in a coffee shop, you know,” the man— Thomas— remarked coolly, looking dangerously amused.

 

“Yes, I’m perfectly aware of that, thank you!” Jimmy spat acidly. He slammed down a spare apron on top of the counter just as Anna came out of the kitchen.

 

“Oh, Thomas, how nice to see you,” she said, smiling and coming over.

 

“You too,” Thomas said warmly, tone completely different.

 

“I see you’ve met Jimmy,” Anna remarked, smiling at Jimmy. “This is Thomas, the new barista I told you about last week. You’ll be working with him over the Christmas period—it always gets particularly busy at this time of year, so we usually bring in some extra staff. Only Thomas might be staying on afterwards, too.”

 

“But—” Jimmy protested, then stopped. “ _What_?”

 

“Well, as you know, John and I are looking to promote someone to working as part time manager, as we won’t have as much time once the baby comes. Thomas is an old family friend, and if it all works out over the next month or so, we’ll promote him to manager,” Anna said brightly. She started unstacking Jimmy’s espresso-cup pyramid. 

 

“But what if someone else wants to be promoted?” Jimmy demanded, folding his arms angrily across his chest and shooting Thomas his best glare. Much to his distaste, Thomas remained looking annoyingly handsome and subtly amused.

 

Anna blinked. “Well, no one else has shown any interest in being promoted— most of our staff are students, so their main focus tends to be their studies. Working here is really just to earn a bit of extra cash. But if anyone did want to apply, then I suppose John and I would just have to see who does best over the Christmas rush and promote accordingly.”

 

“I want to apply for the manager position,” Jimmy said suddenly. Anna and Thomas both stared at him, and Jimmy felt a pang of annoyance at how his remark had only seemed to shock Anna; Thomas was still looking at him with a casually amused expression.

 

“What?” Anna frowned. “But won’t that distract you from your studies?”

 

“Not at all,” Jimmy said determinedly, still glaring at Thomas. “If anything, it’ll help me focus.”

 

“Well, if you think so,” Anna said, looking distinctly unconvinced. “John and I will keep a close eye on you and Thomas in the run up to Christmas, and whoever works the best and shows the traits required for a managerial position will get the promotion. Sorry, Thomas, I shouldn’t have promised you the position.”

 

“It’s quite alright,” Thomas smiled, raising his eyebrows at Jimmy. “I’m not afraid of a little competition— not that this is really competition, anyway,” he added, smirking.

 

Jimmy scowled at Thomas until his facial muscles began to cramp, but Thomas still refused to look annoyed. In fact, his silvery grey eyes were twinkling slightly in the warm light of the cosy café. Jimmy felt like ramming one of Alfred’s precious walnut, apple and cinnamon buns in that smug, handsome face.

 

“Right, well, I have a scan at the hospital, so I’ll leave Jimmy to show you the ropes,” Anna smiled encouragingly at Thomas as she pulled on her coat. “I’ll be back after lunch. Have fun, boys.”

 

Thomas smiled warmly at her as she waved them both goodbye and went out, closing the door of the café carefully behind her. Silence— if it could be called silence with some god-awful pop song wailing away from the speakers— descended on the café. Thomas was still smirking slightly at him. Jimmy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such a mocking smile before. He clenched his fists under the counter to stop himself from grabbing one of the walnut, apple and cinnamon buns.

 

“Looks like you can’t just waltz into any café you like and get promoted to manager after all,” Jimmy said snippily, nodding in the direction of the door in which Anna had just exited. “And just so you know, I fully intend to beat you in any way I can.”

 

“Hm, is that so?” Thomas raised his eyebrows slightly, leaning on the counter. His intense grey eyes lingered on Jimmy’s for a moment, full of an inexplicable and sudden heat, and Jimmy suddenly found his cheeks flushing slightly. The café suddenly seemed warm and airless, and Jimmy looked away hastily, clearing his throat and wiping his hands angrily on his apron.

 

Thomas laughed softly, the sound low and husky. It sent thrills of fury down Jimmy’s spine, but he didn’t quite dare look back at Thomas in case he still had that heavy intensity in his grey gaze.

 

“What do you want me to show you first?” Jimmy asked loudly instead, clattering the espresso cups as he put them away under the counter. He could see that Thomas was still lounging across the counter in his peripheral vision, and it sent another pang of annoyance through him.

 

“Oh, I think I can figure it out. I have poured coffee before,” Thomas commented coolly. Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy became distinctly aware that he was taking off an item of clothing.

 

“What are you doing?” Jimmy demanded in alarm, whipping round to see Thomas with one arm in one arm out of his leather jacket, red striped scarf hanging unevenly from his pale neck. Jimmy could see the sharp line of his collar bones, and felt his stomach do something peculiar.

 

“I’m taking off my coat,” Thomas said slowly, amusement colouring his gaze. He was looking at Jimmy as though he was an idiot, not a second year English Literature student. “Or do you think I should serve coffee in my coat and scarf?”

 

Jimmy scowled again, teeth gritted. God, he hated the man. He was _insufferable_.

 

“If nothing else, your manner will really win you this manager position,” Thomas smirked, unwinding the scarf from his neck and hanging it up with his coat on the coat rack beside the counter. “Customers just love a murderous barista who looks as though they haven’t slept for a week.”

 

“Are you calling me ugly?” Jimmy demanded incredulously. He didn’t think the fact he’d been sleeping badly had been that obvious, and hated Thomas all the more for noticing it, because, like serving cups of coffee all day, it was just another reminder that Jimmy was distinctly unsatisfied with his life. But damn it, if he was going to be unfulfilled and unsatisfied serving cups of coffee, he was going to be the _best_ at it, and no one, not even smug, irritatingly attractive men with stunning cheekbones were going to beat him.

 

Thomas deftly swiped the apron off the counter and tied it around his waist with long, elegant fingers.

 

“Oh, I am most definitely not calling you ugly,” Thomas said huskily, raising his eyebrows slightly at Jimmy, a smirk pulling at his lips. Jimmy flushed slightly and definitely didn’t notice how the powder blue shirt Thomas was wearing showed off the subtle tone of his muscles and the line of his slender waist. Definitely not. He was far too busy trying not to punch the man, for one thing. Who the bloody hell did he think he was?

 

Jimmy began viciously rearranging Alfred’s pecan and banana scones in the display to distract himself, determined not to look at Thomas as he slipped behind the counter and began doing something horribly experienced with the cappuccino maker. He didn’t want to give Thomas the satisfaction of knowing he’d annoyed him.

 

Thomas didn’t speak again until after he’d served an elderly couple and a student with a cold, and Jimmy had started passive-aggressively arranging the millionaire shortbreads, while thinking up as many Shakespearian insults to describe Thomas as he could.

 

“Just so you know…” Thomas began smoothly, leaning on the counter beside the display where Jimmy was in danger of squashing the cream cakes with his clenched fists. He could feel the warmth of Thomas’ body next to him, and while it sent sparks of annoyance through him, he also couldn’t help noticing that the bloody man smelled unfairly good— of blueberries and coffee beans and hair product— and it was a ridiculously seductive combination.

 

“I fully intend to win, too. In any way I can…” Thomas’ voice was suddenly a lot closer than it had been before, smooth and husky and so close that Jimmy could feel Thomas’ breath brush against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

 

Jimmy accidentally flipped a chocolate éclair out of the display.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

“I bloody _hate_ that man!” Jimmy exploded, storming into the kitchen and slamming down a tray of dirty cups and saucers half an hour later. Alfred looked up in confusion from where he was peeling apples, and Daisy paused in loading the dishwasher.

 

“Who?” she asked, eyes wide.

 

“The fucking _barista_ ,” Jimmy snapped, leaning back moodily against the refrigerator and crossing his arms across his chest.

 

“But you’re the barista,” Alfred frowned, looking perplexed.

 

“Not _me_ ,” Jimmy snarled impatiently. “Why on earth would I hate myself? I’m talking about bloody fucking Thomas Barrow.”

 

“Thomas is back?” Daisy asked in surprise, smiling, at the same time Alfred asked, “Who’s Thomas Barrow?”

 

Jimmy stopped, completely thrown. “ _Excuse me_?” he demanded, staring at Daisy.

 

“He used to work here when the shop first opened, but his mother got ill and he moved away to be closer to her. He’s lovely,” Daisy beamed.

 

“Who’s Thomas Barrow?” Alfred repeated, confusion etched across his features.

 

“He is not _lovely_!” Jimmy spat venomously, ignoring Alfred. “Are you mad, Daisy? Oh, you must be. You actually don’t get nauseous from spending time with Alfred.”

 

“Hey!” Alfred said crossly. “And can someone please tell me who Thomas Barrow is?”

 

“Shut up, Alfred. I’m ranting, and your face isn’t helping matters. Thomas bloody Barrow is not _lovely_ , Daisy— he’s trying to steal my job! He made me drop an éclair—”

 

“One of my éclairs?” Alfred exclaimed incredulously. “I got up at six to make those!”

 

“Oh shut up, Alfred,” Jimmy repeated crossly. “No one cares about your éclairs.”

 

“I care about them,” Daisy protested.

 

“You don’t count,” Jimmy snapped. “And both of you, shut the hell up. I’m trying to rant here, and you’re not making it very easy. He thinks he’s so bloody smart, _ooh, I can pour coffee,_ he said I look ugly, and— and— he smells! And did I mention he’s trying to steal my job?”

 

“I smell?” A smooth, amused voice said from behind Jimmy.

 

Jimmy whirled round to see Thomas standing behind him, shirt sleeves rolled up, carrying a tray of dirty lunch dishes. He was smirking. Jimmy suddenly felt as though he would rather like Daisy to put him in the dishwasher.

 

“Will someone please tell me who Thomas Barrow is?” Alfred demanded. His caramel was beginning to burn on the stove, but he hadn’t noticed.

 

“I smell?” Thomas repeated, disregarding Alfred’s question and staring questioningly at Jimmy with that infuriating smirk still playing across his lips.

 

“I—yes,” Jimmy stammered, feeling his cheeks heating up under Thomas’ intent and subtly amused grey gaze. “Of— of blueberries or something— it’s weird.”

 

“It’s called a shower,” Thomas retorted evenly. “Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

 

“I shower all the time thank you very much!” Jimmy snapped furiously. “ _All the time_.”

 

“Well, that must be rather inconvenient when you’re serving coffee,” Thomas quipped, raising his eyebrows slightly. “I thought it would be against Health and Safety regulations to serve naked. And the law, come to that.”

 

Daisy giggled, and Jimmy shot her the Glare of Death.

 

“I— you— shut up!” Jimmy blurted furiously, throwing down his empty tray and stalking past Thomas into the café.

 

The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact he tried to storm through the _‘In’_ door.

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

Things went from bad to worse after that, really. Jimmy quickly discovered that Thomas could make cappuccinos faster than Jimmy could, smiled charmingly at all the customers, and by lunch, he had already earned himself twelve pounds in tips. But worst of all, the girls _loved_ him. Jimmy was used to them making eyes at _him_ over the counter and giggling at what he said— he sometimes even flirted back when he was in the mood. But today, none of the girls gave him a second glance. By the time it was nearing their lunch break, Jimmy felt like throwing all three remaining éclairs at Thomas’ annoyingly handsome face.

 

“Alfred says you can take a break now,” Ivy smiled prettily, coming over to the counter. “How are you finding things?”

 

“Oh, fine thanks,” Jimmy said, giving her his best flirtatious smile, even though it made his cheeks hurt after all the scowling.

 

“Oh, sorry, I was asking Thomas,” Ivy apologised, and Jimmy suddenly realised that the dreamy smile on her face was no longer directed at him, but at _Thomas_. It was too much. Jimmy threw down his apron and stormed from the café into the kitchen where he distinctly heard Alfred asking Daisy— “But who’s Thomas Barrow?”, before stomping into alleyway and slamming the door shut behind him.

 

The cold air stung his skin, and Jimmy shivered violently as he lit a cigarette, feeling utterly and completely _furious_. He knew he had no reason to be— he didn’t even _like_ Ivy, but it was the principle. He was meant to be the gorgeous, irresistible barista, not bloody _Thomas_. The man wasn’t even that good looking.

 

The door to the kitchen opened and Thomas appeared, a pack of cigarettes in his hands, and Jimmy was forced to concede that actually, maybe Thomas was that good looking. Ridiculously so, actually. His skin was smooth and flawless, and his startlingly grey eyes showed up the sharpness of his cheekbones and the red colour of his lips. God, who had given him the right to be so unfairly handsome? Jimmy watched furiously as Thomas leant back against the wall too, and lit his cigarette.

 

“This is my spot,” Jimmy growled, choking slightly on his lungful of smoke.

 

 “Oh, I’m sorry,” Thomas said with a tone of great sincerity. “I didn’t realise it was reserved for people with chocolate sprinkles in their hair.”

 

“What?” Jimmy glared, ruffling his hair so that it stuck out at odd angles. He was sure he’d got them all out.

 

“Nice hair,” Thomas quipped, smirking around his cigarette.

 

Jimmy retaliated by biting his thumb at Thomas— his favourite Shakespearean insult. He loved using it to insult Alfred because the chef had absolutely no idea it was rude. In fact, last time Jimmy had done it, he had asked Jimmy if he had a rag nail and needed a plaster.

 

However, to his horror, Thomas merely exhaled smoke into the cold air and said in a very unaffected voice. “Same to you.”

 

“How do you know what that means?” Jimmy demanded incredulously.

 

“Shakespeare was quite popular, you know. I doubt you’re the only person in the world to have seen his plays,” Thomas remarked coolly. “And just so you know, you still haven’t managed to get rid of the chocolate sprinkles.”

 

Cursing furiously, Jimmy ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Well— well at least it doesn’t look like I emptied a bottle of hair oil over it,” Jimmy retorted nastily. “Get lots of girls with that look, do you?”

 

“Yes,” Thomas replied casually, exhaling slowly. “But whether I did or not wouldn’t bother me. I tend to prefer my partners male. And with chocolate sprinkles in their hair,” he added, smirking around his cigarette.

 

Jimmy paled. “Excuse me?” he asked faintly.

 

“You know, I think this is going to be fun,” Thomas remarked lightly as if he hadn’t spoken the last remark which had practically given Jimmy cardiac arrest at all. He took a long drag of his cigarette, cheeks hollowing out as he did so. “I’m going to enjoy beating you for that promotion.”

 

And with that, he tossed the remenants of his cigarette to the ground and left, leaving Jimmy standing in the yard with a racing heart, furiously clenched fists, and a sense of impending doom.


End file.
